Page 3 of Buttons

“No. We’re not ready to give up on her yet. Julian is just very particular, and we don’t want to throw her in too quickly. For now, I only outsource the smaller tasks to her.”

Morrison laughs. “Don’t get much smaller than answering phones.”

Julian subtly pinches my side, squeezing between his thumb and index finger. “But enough about me,” I say, “I take it when I transferred you, you and Julian worked out the conference?”

“Yes,” my husband says, finally swooping in. “We’re finalizing our sponsorship slots now.”

The warmth of the children’s corner makes me feel reckless, and I can’t help speaking up one more time. “That reminds me. Before I forget, the March timing conflicts with Leo’s science project. I’ll need to adjust the family schedule if we’re attending.”

It’s not like me to create conflicts between professional obligations and family life. Julian’s fingers go completely still against my waist.

“I’ll review the options before we finalize,” he says finally.

As the party eventually winds down and we collect the kids, Julian praises me, “You were great tonight. Morrison seemed impressed.”

“Thank you.”

Julian sighs, a tight line appearing between his brows as he looks over the lingering crowd. “Tonight was almost perfect. There’s a room full of supposed innovators here, but not a single developer worth backing. I have a portfolio ready to deploy into green infrastructure, but I can’t find a single project stable enough to risk our money on.”

“You’ll find the perfect person,” I say, completely meaning it.

And so, the fairy tale continues. Children: well-behaved. Clothing: stain and wrinkle free. But as we walk out, I findmyself thinking about Leo’s home for blocks that don’t fit anywhere else. I wonder what it might feel like to create spaces for myself rather than always accommodating others.

Julian steers me toward the door. I’m exactly where I’ve chosen to be, doing exactly what I’m best at.

Chapter 2

Elowen

The next morning, the ballroom glitz is gone, replaced by the reality of running a household. I crack eggs one-handed into a stainless-steel pan while my other scrolls through Julian’s day schedule on my phone. The Singapore team is scheduled for nine, followed by investors at noon. He also needs to sign for his dry-cleaning at four-thirty. Thankfully, they’ll deliver right to his office. Once those are set, I check them against the kids’ schedules to make sure Leo and Meredith’s school drop-offs, the housecleaning, and the grocery delivery don’t conflict.

My mind drifts back to the first time we met for coffee, where he ordered for both of us without asking. The evening hadn’t felt like a date at all; it felt like an interrogation. When I finally got home that night, I actually sat down and took notes on what he liked. Julian has an unyielding, magnetic gravity. He could tellyou the name on your birth certificate is wrong, and you would find yourself believing him by the next morning.

The scent of browning butter pulls me back to the kitchen, reminding me to pour the whisked eggs into the pan. Over at the bay window, Leo sits hunched over a poster board, his fingers white-knuckled around a blue marker. He pushes up his glasses and scrubs out a single word before adjusting the frames a second time, mimicking his father’s perfectionism.

“It’s looking good, sweetheart,” I say, keeping my voice as encouraging as I can.

“No, it’s crooked,” he mutters. “The ‘E’ is taller than the ‘A’.”

I try to tell him no one will ever notice, but he cuts me off with a quiet, “I will.”

The way he’s hunched over reminds me of Julian ten years ago, when he called me at home and asked me to come to his office. He kept his gaze locked on a contract, ignoring everything outside the window. “Elowen,” he had said, finally speaking my name. “You start as my personal assistant on Monday. I need someone who can handle my schedule.” The offer didn’t leave any room for refusal, and sayingyeswas the only thing I wanted.

“Mama, look!” Meredith bursts into the kitchen, a whirlwind of purple pajamas and wild curls. She thrusts a drawing into my hands. “It’s you and me in a garden!”

“Beautiful, Mi-Mi.” I smooth the paper onto the marble counter. “Now go get dressed. You can wear your purple shirt today.”

She tilts her head, her button nose wrinkling up in immediate resistance. “But, but…”

I turn off the burner for the eggs, the quiet hiss of the stove dying away. Before plating them, I cross the kitchen to pour Julian’s coffee into his heavy, handleless white mug, setting it exactly where he expects it: at the head of the table. Meredith watches the dark liquid stream into the ceramic, clearlysearching for a way to stall. She would live in those pajamas if I let her.

“Why does Daddy always get his coffee first? Even before we get our eggs?”

“Because Daddy has an important day, and coffee helps him start.”

“My days are important, too,” she declares.

True, girl.